Dear Friends
by Crystalrose7788
Summary: A new breed of Rocky Horror fiction. Something startlingly similiar to Rocky Horror happens in a British home. Last two chapters September 29th.
1. One Cold, Dark Night

Author Note: I do not own the characters Dr. Scott or any other Rocky Horror character, Richard O'Brien does. However, Jiff Daff, Maygent, Frenkie, Janita, Maria, Bocky, and Jim are my warped creations.

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The pair drove down the rain-slicked roads of London as thunder roared and lightning flashed in crooked tongues across the sky. They, of course, were petrified, but who could blame them? Firstly, their fear was apparent because they were Americans and the British road system was, I quote, 'all wrong', what with the cars driving on the opposite side of the road and the steering wheel on the opposite side of the car. Secondly, if I may add, because all the buildings lining the road seemed the same in the rain: dark and ominous, with black gaping doorways that one knew were shut tight from the downpour.

Suddenly the couple grew aware of a sputtering and dying of their little car, due to the utter lack of gasoline. There they were stuck, in front of a much-graffiti-covered wall, with no fuel and no umbrellas.

"Jim, what happened?"

"The car ran out of gas, Janita," her tall male companion replied.

"I'm scared, Jim; what are we going to do?" she clutched her tiny purse to her chest, fearing the shadowy figures that she assumed were all approaching the dead vehicle.

"Well, the pumps are closed at this hour; we're going to have to go door-to-door to bum gas off of somebody." He adjusted his thick glasses and pulled the key out of the ignition. "Stay here, Janita; I'll be back in no time."

"You can't be serious. I'm coming with you; this place gives me the creeps."

As the rain poured upon the couple in what seemed like buckets, Janita used the map as a head-cover.

"Wh—that's our map, Janita!" Jim said, ripping the drenched paper off of her.

She sighed sadly as he handed the ruined paper back to her.

"Well, it's too late for the map now," he said, continuing on his way.

The couple walked alongside the graffiti-covered wall to the other side of the building that lie within, a gorgeous, castle-like domicile. Of course, the thunderstorm and the torrents of rain made it look less than inviting, but alas, Jim and Janita had to explore it further.

They approached the metal gate, Jim pushing timidly on the painted bars. The gate swung open easily.

"Maybe we'll have some luck here," he said, looking at his female companion. "I see some… really nice vehicles in their driveway—wow, a Bentley—so maybe they'll lend us some gasoline."

She smiled at her fiancé of six years, the man of her dreams, now drenched from head to toe and wearing those revoltingly nerdy glasses. Reaching up, she took the glasses from his face and placed them on a banister. She giggled, noticing the rain dripping off of his moustache and wondered when he'd finally shave the silly thing off.

One would think Jim would have known that moustaches were out at this point in time. Especially considering he was a hairstylist, and had to follow current styles. And that was precisely how he met the shy, virginal Janita.

Alright, Janita considered, maybe he _isn't_ the man of my dreams. She watched him as he stood awestruck outside of the house. He works at a beauty parlor, no less, and wears sandals and khakis and fancy gold watches that dwarf her engagement ring in price. And he cares an awful lot about his appearance, she sneered. Not that he worked out or anything like other guys would do, but you can't even lay a _finger_ on his hair or watch him shave. Ah, it was good enough to have a man to respect her boundaries enough to avoid pouncing on her before they were to be wed, whenever that would be….

He approached the large oaken door with its gigantic stained glass window, and signaled for Janita to come closer. Once she was standing next to him, he pressed the doorbell, and chimes rang out within the foyer.

It was then that they saw a man in the house approaching, his tall, lean shape appearing as a warped shadow in the pane of glass at the center of the door. Slowly he opened the door a creak and looked out at the drenched pair with his usual stern gaze.

"Hello," Jim timidly squeaked, as rain dripped into his mouth. "Can you lend us some gas? Our car has run out of—"

Suddenly, a loud metallic thud rang out from the direction of the couple's vehicle.

"Oh no!" Janita cried. She saw the yellow lights of a tow truck heading down the boulevard, most likely dragging their car behind it. "_Now _what are we going to do, Jim?" she asked her fiancé.

As he shrugged, the man opened the door a bit wider.

"Why don't you… come inside for awhile," he said quietly but sinisterly, with a British accent.

The couple followed the mysterious man into the house without even asking his name. There was an uneasy trust between them, now that Jim and Janita were left stranded without their car. The home seemed comfortable and warm, yet not lived in.

The pair could hear rock music coming from upstairs, as they feasted their eyes upon the inside of the elegantly decorated home. There were Japanese and Chinese sculptures and artwork, intricately beaded furniture, mysterious artifacts of all types, and cats scampering across the cushions and along the marble floor. Janita pulled back at the sight of the furred creatures; she had allergies to practically every kind of pet.

"Excuse me, sir, but what might your name be?" Jim asked the silent stranger.

He turned slowly to the couple whilst still walking, and answered their question in a stoic voice.

"It's Jiff Daff," he replied with a sigh. "Please, follow me."

Jim and Janita had to eye the man up, for his demeanor was, at the very least, a bit creepy. Jiff Daff was tall and slender, with a mop of grayish brown hair frizzed in a type of afro atop his head. His nose was straight and long, extending down his long face to practically cover his small, lipless mouth. His gaze was piercing yet distant, intense yet uninterested. Janita felt gooseflesh, and looked away to find a cat rubbing against her ankle.

As they walked down the corridor, another man awaited them with an enormous mound of curly brown hair on his head. He stood even taller than Jiff Daff, but didn't appear quite as threatening to the pair. He waited calmly by the foreign-made grandfather clock, laughing quietly to himself as Janita attempted to shoo away the feline.

"You look quite… wet," he said softly, with a strong British accent.

"Fetch them some clothing, Maygent," Jiff Daff ordered sullenly.

The curly-haired man complied with a slight bowing of the head. Janita couldn't help but stare at him, for it had appeared as if he had been flirting with her, for he was watching her during the comment about… wetness. He had deep brown eyes with little creases about them, most likely from laughing, she supposed. His long thin legs connected with slender, manly hips, and his shoulders were broad—just the kind of manly man she had been desiring. He had no facial hair, but his five o'clock shadow was obvious. The distress in her eyes was obvious at seeing a wedding ring on his left ring finger, and she sighed aloud as he fetched the clothes.

He handed two silken robe-like garments to the stunned pair. Janita accepted hers with a slight blush.

"Please… do change your clothes. Mustn't stain the Persian rugs!" Jiff Daff commented in an almost jovial tone.

Janita looked at Maygent again, hoping he'd point her way to a bathroom. "Um, sir?" she said, gazing at him while holding the robe—

"You can call me Maygent," he responded with a shy smile. "How may I help you?"

She couldn't help but laugh giddily. Jim had already practically disappeared from her mind. Her mind had a fogginess to it, and she shook her head, attempting to remember her question.

"Oh, yes," she recalled. "Do you have a—bathroom or parlor where I can change my clothes?"

Maygent quickly glanced over at Jiff Daff, who shook his head in a rather exaggerated fashion.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss; the master of the house has many a guest here tonight, so I'm afraid they are all quite… unsanitary at the moment."

"Call me Janita," she responded with a blush. "I don't really require much—"

"You can change here," he offered. "I'll ensure that Jiff Daff and I are not watching."

Janita glanced over at Jim. His head was off in the clouds somewhere, for he was admiring a rather colorful painting of a calico cat. He wasn't paying the least bit of attention to what had been going on between her and the handsome… butler? She wasn't sure what position Maygent held in the household, but by his reference to a 'master,' it must not have been very high. That didn't sway her obvious attraction to him. Even so, she was quite the virginal one, and wasn't sure how to convey this emotion without seeming prudish, on the one hand, or easy, on the other hand.

"Okay, but only if you _promise_ not to look," she said, beginning to untuck her modest blouse.

Jim wandered off in the direction of a Persian cat as Janita changed into the comfortable, dry robe. Maygent kept his eyes fixed on something behind him as she changed, although he did peek once or twice, turning her face the color of a beet with embarrassment and… whatever else.

"All done," she said with a slight sigh. The intensity of the moment had made her lightheaded, as she watched Maygent turn towards her again with interest apparent in his boyish face.

Jiff Daff had apparently taken off after the curious Jim, and the two of them reappeared with Jim in a dry robe as well.

"Let's head upstairs then," Jiff Daff commented, with an edge to his voice. "The master of the house will be quite excited to see… American guests…."

The quartet headed up the beautiful stairwell, as the couple silently admired the plush rug covering each and every one of the stairs. The rock music became louder as they approached a double-door encrusted with some kind of gold paint, and carved upon with enchanting symbols.

Jiff Daff opened the door to find a long ballroom with wooden floors and six crystal chandeliers, holding a large crowd of Britons seated in eight neat rows extending to the front of the room where a cushioned throne sat, the picture of celebrity and royalty. The chair seemed to be made of a type of bronze, and consisted of several intricate carvings. A pair of lions wearing crowns in their manes made up the legs of the chair, and a large griffin extending its snakelike tongue was carved into the back, its gigantic wings splayed outwards and a bit forwards, to make up the arms of the chair.

The Britons were singing amidst themselves, and the din of their incessant chatter was detracting from the prim and proper appearance of the room itself. They stood in front of their seats, but went through synchronized motions of the song quite splendidly.

Jim, Janita, Maygent, and Jiff Daff took their seats at the back of the room in four folding chairs set up behind the final row of Britons. Almost immediately, the lights of the chandeliers dimmed to near darkness and a single white spotlight shone on the very back of the room. The Britons fell to a complete hush, seemingly knowing what to expect. The entire audience turned around and faced the double-doors, awaiting what was to come.

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Okay, first chapter done... If you see strange parallels between this and something else, please don't mention it in your reviews; however do review. If youDO see the parallels, you will enjoy this story more. If you want to know what this attempts to parallel, email me at crystalrose7788 at hotmail dot com. You can wait though, because it may become clearer later. Thanks! --Crystal 

BTW: Even though not stated, this story will be a SLIGHT crossover between Rocky Horror and Moulin Rouge. Just slightly.


	2. On With The Show

Music began and the doors burst forth, revealing a dark-haired man draping a white cape over his black spandex costume. He was wearing a heavy amount of makeup and ruby red lipstick, which contrasted strongly with his dark eyes and hair. Before Janita could take another breath, the man begin to sing and walk down the aisle, as Jiff Daff and Maygent arose and flanked him on either side.

"Let me greet you all, ladies and gentlemen,  
I would like to say hello  
If you're ready for some entertainment,  
we will get on with the show!"

He then proceeded to rip off the cape, revealing a tight black spandex suit. Janita almost fainted, at being able to see _every_ aspect of the man's anatomy. His chest was bare and covered with thick black hair, and the suit fit him like an extremely tight pair of suspenders. On his feet he wore black platform shoes, which made him much taller than actual life. His fingernails were painted with black nail polish, creating a bizarre-looking entertainer. Jiff Daff and Maygent took their places at the front of the room, although the attention was not directed there at the moment. Both picked up their respective guitars that had been leaning against the throne and began to play along with the singer's established beat.

As he sang along with the heavy rock chords, he sauntered down the center aisle, riling up members of the audience to stand and/or reach for him. His singing voice was truly spectacular, as well as his stage persona. The audience was now clapping along, and it seemed Janita's fiancé Jim had taken an interest in the dark-haired man as well.

"I'd like to sell you my body  
Now _that's_ some good merchandise  
I'll fool you and I'll fill you  
With any drug I'll pill you  
And to thrill you I'll use any device!"

He straddled an audience member at this point, rubbing his chest up and down the woman's shirt. Janita could hear her giggles above the clapping and general cheering for the mysterious singer. He wound the woman's hair up onto his finger with a quick and clever spinning motion, and then released it as he dismounted and advanced to a man nearby, whereas he rubbed the chap's cheek with a smooth white hand.

"You're in for an awesome performance  
You won't feel a hint of remorse  
You'll get an orgasmic feeling  
It's a tour de force, of course"

He reached the throne and began strutting around in front of the entire congregation, throwing his legs into the air and dancing with incredible agility and flexibility. Jiff Daff stood nearby, keeping a seemingly slower beat with his foot, but staying with the rhythm on his guitar. Maygent's guitar rang out as he kept a more humble appearance in front of the audience. _  
_

The singer signaled to his guitar-players, who looked up briefly in mid-play, and then he ascended and stood on the throne hishead of tight black curls almost touching the ceiling. The audience's arms rose into the air, waving with the rhythm, as the beat continued.

Janita couldn't help but concentrate on Maygent, although the singer had her partial attention due to his incredible attention-grabbing singing and dancing skills.

The song finished up with whistles, cheers, and clapping, sounding as if they were produced by thousands of people. The audience went wild, giving the trio a standing ovation, screaming the singer's name, although it was impossible to decipher, what, with all the other sounds in the echoic room.

At the song's ending, the dark-haired man stepped off of the throne.

"We're absolutely _delighted_ to have such a wonderful audience!" he remarked happily, quieting the crowd slightly by holding his hands up.

Janita couldn't help but notice that he had a British accent as well, although it didn't seem quite as seasoned as with the other two men of the household. He seemed… foreign, although it wasn't obvious as to where he might be from.

"Thank you so much for coming to Dargen Lodge, and do come again soon, dearies!"

At that remark from the dark-haired singer, some of the Britons begin to put their jackets and coats back on, picking their dripping umbrellas off of the floor. However, most of them, probably three fourths of the crowd, patiently held lit cigarette lighters, and the dark-haired man immediately became acutely aware of them.

"Alright, would you like to see more?" The audience roared their positive response.

"Well, I have yet to introduce the _newest_ member of my group, but without further ado, here he is!" He held an arm out towards the double-doors at the back of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Bocky!"

Through the double doors, a slender blond man entered, having a thin face and blue eyes. The audience immediately oohed and ahhed at the sight of the young man, entranced with the arrival. Bocky seemed to appreciate the attention, and shook the hands of several Britons on his way up to the throne, where the dark-haired man awaited. Jim took the whole affair quite seriously, eyeing up both of the gentlemen in the spot of importance to the audience.

"Come on, dear, don't dawdle," the dark-haired singer commented to the blond, although at a low volume.

The blond shuffled to the front of the audience and took his position next to the first singer. Janita watched with intense interest at the spectacle unfolding before her. Never before had she witnessed such a strange concert such as this.

The music began once more, as the dark-haired man protectively put his arm across the slender shoulders of the blond man.

The two men took turns singing the lines of the song, sometimes harmonizing. Oddly enough, the thin blond man with the seemingly higher speaking voice took the lower notes, and the dark-haired man with a decently deep speaking voice took the higher parts, sometimes screeching, although still retaining a beautiful, pure sound. The audience exploded with cheers at the finish, giving the pair a standing ovation for their magical song. It had truly been glorious to hear the men harmonizing and showing off their vocal ranges. Janita was hugely impressed.

As the audience members begin to disperse, with the aid of the gracious singer continually thanking them and telling them to be careful in the storm, a man stood up and walked straight down the center aisle toward the dark-haired man.

"Well, Mr. Curry, you made five hundred pounds tonight. Congratulations." He handed the man a thick envelope.

Instead of a smile, though, the dark-haired man frowned, and called Jiff Daff and Maygent to his side. They approached quickly, and faced off against the man.

"Now, Sheffie, you and I both know damn well that there were more than five hundred bloody people 'ere tonight. They were each charged five pounds _each _just to watch the concert, so it's quite obvious to me that you _again_ are trying to cheat me out of our well-earned money!"

"How dare you to accuse me of such a heinous act—"

"How can you stand there and blatantly lie to me? Could you explain _that, _for starters?"

"I have been nothing but hon—"

"Liar!"

As the last few members of the audience cleared the room, the dark-haired singer grabbed his cape from where it had been brought back to him by an adoring fan. He wrapped it around each fist, and spun the fabric of it round and round until it looked like a thick rope, as he eyed his manager up and down.

Sheffie immediately registered and took off running down the aisle toward the open double doors, with Mr. Curry, as he was now revealed to be, very close behind him. Mr. Curry then began to sing an angry song of hatred as he caught Sheffie around the neck with the rope-like cape.

"You suck our funds like an eel  
You're fired, how does that feel?  
Lying straight to my face  
You've stolen so much money  
And you want more!"

He tightened the braided fabric around Sheffie's neck, as Sheffie squirmed to escape. Janita and Jim watched on in horror from the open doorway, as they were of the last to leave the room. Mr. Curry continued to sing, as he spat on the back of Sheffie's neck, looking quite animalistic in his conquering of the man.

"You're just a cheap, lying sack  
How will you find a new act to replace me?  
How can you face me?  
But now you can kiss my arse goodbye"

Sheffie escaped from the rope-hold, yet was cornered easily by the thin, agile Mr. Curry. He was panting in his suit, and his tie was awry, looking itself like some kind of noose. Mr. Curry grabbed a small black riding crop and wielded it as he sang some more.

"You act like a big business man  
But now the shit hit the fan  
No one should give you the time  
You're just a spoiled-brat schoolboy  
Let me tan your hide!"

He flicked the whip towards the man's back, making him run off again wild-eyed. As the suited man took off again, the cape was thrown across his neck once more, and Mr. Curry continued to sing in his ferocious way.

"You are now unemployed  
So make yourself null and void  
You will leave now

Burn in hell, cow!"

At the last words of his threat, he spun the man around in a circle by his neck, causing folding chairs to clatter across the floor noisily. He let go of the cape, watching with an evil grin as the man flew through the double doors and rolled down the staircase in a sweaty red heap, head over feet. Janita fainted from the intensity of the moment, with Jim barely catching her in his arms.

When Janita came to, she was seated clumsily in a folding chair and a woman with shaggy dishwater blonde hair was standing above her, attempting to fan her. She jerked a bit at the sight of a new person, and immediately scanned the vicinity for a familiar face. Jim was gone, as well as Jiff Daff and Maygent, and the only familiar face was the unfamiliar face of Mr. Curry, the singer from earlier.

She stumbled unsteadily to her feet, as the blonde woman waved Mr. Curry to her side. As he approached, his body threw off a strong scent of cologne attempting to cover up the sweat that had probably poured from his body as he fired Sheffie.

Janita looked up dizzily at the singer, who was now gazing intently upon her as the blonde woman made room for him. It was then that she noticed the features of his face: a small, pointed nose, dark brown eyes, thick lips, a rather large overbite, and, along with the physical features, she could smell the strong scent of cigarette smoke emanating from his open mouth.

"Hello there, madam," he said timidly. "I apologize if my earlier actions startled you. I had hoped that the members of the audience would have missed that confrontation. It has most certainly been a long time in the making."

"Oh, it's no problem at all," she responded, finally gaining control of her eyesight, which had been a bit jittery up until now. He was a decent-looking, soft spoken fellow, with an aura about him quite different than the one he had displayed during, and directly following the concert.

"What's your name, Miss?" the blonde asked, as she wiped Janita's forehead with a wet rag.

"It's Janita… Janita Bodson."

"Did you enjoy the concert, Janita?" Mr. Curry asked.

"Yes, I did, very much. I didn't even know about it until we—I—well, my fiancé Jim and I—well, you see—our car ran out of ga—"

"Ohh…." A look of understanding came over the singer's face, as he nodded and smiled. "_You're_ the stranded travelers that Jiff Daff and Maygent mentioned to me earlier. I should have recognized by the fact that you_ are_ wearing my robe." He blushed slightly, and then continued. "Forgive me for not introducing myself before the concert. I am Frenk M Curry, but you can call me Frenkie, if you so wish." He took her hand in his and lightly kissed the top of it. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Janita responded, blushing at him. She was wearing a _man's _robe? And not just any man; this popular singer who seemed to fancy her? It all seemed too much to take in at one time. Just then Jim approached the folding chair, crossing to the side of it to check on Janita's condition.

"Oh, thank goodness, you're awake," he said, squatting at her side.

Frenkie diverted his attention to Janita's mustached fiancé. "And you must be the male counterpart of the stranded travelers. Welcome to Dargen Lodge. As I mentioned earlier to… Janita, my name is Frenk M Curry, but you may call me Frenkie. I'm delighted to meet you."

"Well, my name is Jim Hunnot, and it's great to meet you, sir," he responded.

The two men shook hands and begin small talk. Janita was slightly disturbed by the lack of introduction of the blonde who was currently caring for her.

"I didn't catch your name," she told the woman, as she put away the fan and rag.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Maria. I live here with Frenkie, along with Jiff Daff and Maygent." She smiled, as she watched the back of Frenkie guardedly.

The women chatted briefly, until Bocky came into the room. All conversation ceased as Frenkie directed all his concentration on the blond man, neglecting his new guests.

"You'll have to excuse me, Janita and Jim. Please make yourselves at home. I must make Bocky at home as well; he's the newest addition to the group. Goodnight. Adieu."

With that, Frenkie and Bocky disappeared from view, walking arm in arm down a narrowed hallway. A pair of cats also trailed behind them as they became better acquainted with each other.

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Well, I haven't gotten any reviews yet, but hopefully people are reading this! Please don't be a detective, pointing out a hidden meaning, if you wish to review! (I scared another potential reviewer, damn it!)


	3. Midnight Visits

Maygent appeared soon thereafter, helping Janita to rise from the chair, and directed her to a guest bedroom in the eastern wing of the house.

Janita hated to ask the burning question, but just had to.

"Maygent, are you married?"

He turned and looked at her, pleasantly surprised.

"Yes…." he murmured quietly.

"Oh," was the simple response.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason, really. I figured someone like you would be married."

They walked in awkward silence the remainder of the way to the bedroom, with only the sound of their footsteps and breathing lingering in the plush hallway.

"Would you like me to come by later on this evening?" he asked her carefully, as they approached the bedroom door.

She was taken aback. Was he _hitting _on her? He seemed so shy, so backward. Jim had been ignoring her all night. There was something about this man—this tall, curly-haired, shy man—that intrigued her.

"Alright," she heard herself say. A little smile from Maygent, and she was left in the dark room to her thoughts.

Jim was directed to another room on the opposite wing by Jiff Daff. He had seen his fiancée directed towards the other side of the house, but exhaustion had overcome him and sleep was all he could consider. The pair walked in silence, as Jiff Daff left Jim in the silence of the room, several doors down the same hallway of Frenkie's bedroom.

A couple of hours later, as Janita tossed and turned in the featherbed, the door to her room creaked slightly. Because she had always been a rather light sleeper, she jolted up in bed to see the lean, curly-haired silhouette of a man. It couldn't possibly be Maygent, could it? Immediately the vision of her limp-wristed fiancé came to mind. He wouldn't possibly come over to her room in the middle of the night, least of all in some strange house. Just in case it was him, though, she whispered his name innocently.

"Jim, is that you?"

The man approached quickly and silently, pulling back the canopy on Janita's canopy bed to reveal Maygent.

"Oh, Maygent," she managed to blurt. He was a bit taken aback.

"Did you not believe me when I asked to come by?"

"No, it's not that," Janita managed to murmur. "I'm just… a bit shy."

"I understand," he said. "I should have considered more before I offered to come by. You have a fiancé and you must feel committed to him, and I'm married, and—"

"No, please, it's not that," she replied.

He sank onto the bed, leaning towards her. "Then what is it?"

"I'm shy," she responded. "I've… never done anything before. I'm a vir—"

"I'm sorry," he hastily said. "I didn't kno—"

Her earnest look made him speak again.

"Do you still want to—do this then?"

"Yes, I mean—well, um, YES," she responded quickly.

"Very well then; now are you sure? I don't want to pressure you, but you are so beautiful and refined and—well, I feel strange admitting this, but I'm afraid I've fallen for you, head over heels."

"Really?" She blushed a deep shade of red. "After only a small time of knowing me?"

"Yes, I really would love to get to know you better… starting now," he said, smirking boyishly.

Sparing the specific details, I may add that they did indeed get to know each other much better that night, with Maygent proposing that he would soon be divorcing his wife for Janita. A sad fate for his three children, but with Janita perhaps becoming his second wife, they would better cope. Of course you are all thinking, how could something like that have happened so fast? The only way I can respond to this is that, this sort of thing happens every day, but apparently not to you disbelievers. The memory of Jim within Janita's mind was flushed completely away, for this sexual experience had aided her in realizing something about her chaste fiancé of six years.

Jim, in his bedroom a few doors down from Frenkie's bedroom suite, could only stare at the ceiling in expectations of a midnight visit. However, this midnight visit, he hoped, would not be from his fiancée or from Maria, the groupie with a heart of gold; this visit, he prayed, would be from the man himself, Frenk M. Curry.

No sooner had his thoughts bounced about in his head with the dozen chimes of the grandfather clock, than his bedroom door groaned softly and a lean figure stood at the entrance, shadowed by the intense light of the hallway. First, of course, he had to be certain that if it was indeed Janita, that his cover was not blown.

"Is that you, Janita?" he spoke at the figure, crossing his fingers beneath the satin sheets that he was wrong.

"As a matter of fact, it is not," the deep male voice answered in a hesitant British accent. He approached Jim's bed slowly, almost timidly.

"Who is it then?" Jim asked, feeling chills run down his spine. This confrontation apparently excited him greatly, and instead of the feelings confusing him; they gave him a sense of understanding.

"It's… Frenkie," the man said, allowing the light of the hallway to shine upon his pale face, as he squatted near the bed. "I… couldn't help but notice earlier your apparent—interest in me; is this accurate?"

"Yes—well, I mean, YES," Jim responded enthusiastically.

"Is… it the kind of interest that a midnight visit might be appropriate for?"

Jim was quite stimulated by this man's shy demeanor and incredible charm. He looked down at the comforter, and knew how to respond. This was no night at the Bodson house; this was serious physical attraction, gender be damned.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Then… let's get to it, shall we?" Frenkie added with a serious note, as he slid under the covers next to Jim.

Jim knew that Frenkie had been with Bocky previously, for he still smelled of sweat and saliva and his nightshirt was on backwards. Even so, seeing the well-built man in his bed, wanting him, drove him wild inside.

As with Janita and Maygent's experience, I will not go into excruciating detail, but I must say, Jim and Frenkie's physical relationship was begun that night. Jim realized some things about himself, and accepted them, knowing that there was a person lying next to him, desiring him, and leading him through the steps to pleasure. Although, he had to admit, it definitely hurt the first time, whether giving or receiving. And that is all I will disclose to you for now.

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Okay, okay, people. By my comments at the end of the first chapter, I meant not to disclose any story secrets; I did not mean to refrain from reviewing. You can say, "wow, I love this story, I get it ;) hint hint" or "gee, you suck, did you pull this out of your $$?"or any other way you feel, just don't say the exact words of what you think this story is truly about. That's all. Please review, even if it's one word. And thank you to my single reviewer, I hope you come back to review again. I really don't think this story will disappoint, if you actually 'get' it. Thanks everyone.


	4. Belligerant Breakfast

The dawn broke, as Janita found herself alone in bed. Maygent was gone, without a single word. She had taken his words seriously, of devotion and dedication and divorce. It had been all for naught, she supposed. May as well just live her life out with her boring fiancé and take that as punishment for betraying his love for a night.

She found her clothes, clean and dry in a neat bundle on the dresser, and proceeded to put them on and make her way for the foyer. Maybe Jim would already be there, waiting for her.

Maygent had not actually abandoned Janita, I should tell you. He had been chastened and taken out of the room quite early in the morning by a furious Jiff Daff, who felt it extremely inappropriate for him to be cheating on his wife with a woman engaged to be married, no less. Maygent sat glumly at the kitchen table, sipping some of Frenkie's orange juice and vowing never to profess all that he had ever again. However, it _had_ seemed true to him, and indeed, it was. He removed his wedding ring without another thought, slipping it into his pocket, and found himself making a call to a divorce lawyer to send the papers to his residence. He had truly fallen for Janita and was prepared to marry her, or at the very least, continue a relationship with her. Besides, being an extremely conscientious man, Maygent couldn't continue this affair having previously promised his wife in their wedding vows to be monogamous. No, no, this marriage had to end now, for it would kill him with guilt if his forbidden relationship continued.

"Maygent, please think about what you are doing," Jiff Daff mentioned sternly, as he entered the room, once Maygent had hung up with the lawyer.

"I have, Jiff, and I have chosen Janita. I can't go through the remainder of my married days wondering 'what if I had taken another path' and so forth. I wouldn't be able to keep this affair a secret; it would burden me and pique my curiosity to continually remember it."

"Is _that _why you're doing this? Because you'll feel guilty? Please give me a better excuse than that, dear Maygent."

"I—I've found myself to care for her, a lot, in fact. She's all I've been thinking about since she arrived here."

"Maygent, as a married man of nearly a decade now, I know about guilt and 'what if' questions, but I've learned that communication is the key to a strong, guilt-free marriage. If you simply tell your wife about what you did, you can _both_ move on and—"

Maygent slammed his hand down on the kitchen table. "I'm not happy, Jiff Daff! My marriage—isn't satisfying to me anymore. If it had been, I would not have been compelled to cheat. And I have, and I just happened to like it—"

Jiff Daff slapped the tall man across his face. "Snap out of it, Maygent. You have _three_ young children. You don't want to bring them through the horrible process of divorce. They'll be scarred for life. How could you be so… selfish!"

Maygent recoiled from the slap, but continued to speak. "I want to be happy, Jiff, and I think I could find happiness—for life, this time—with Janita. We just… clicked."

"That's not _all_ you did last night, you bloody debaucher," he muttered, stomping out of the kitchen.

"Now the hell what?" Maygent mumbled to himself. "Everything seemed so… clear to me last night, and now it's all twisted and confusing. Bloody hell."

He put his head down on the cool marble of the table, staring at the etchings as someone walked into the kitchen. He looked up angrily, expecting Jiff Daff, but it was Frenkie, looking quite pleased with himself, pulling the jug of orange juice out of the refrigerator and drinking directly out of it.

"Why are you so damn happy?" he asked the smiling man.

"Well, why do you look so utterly _miserable_?" was the response.

"I asked first," mumbled Maygent.

"Alright, alright, but please don't share this information." He proceeded to put away the jug and wipe his lips. "I just happened to get lucky _twice_ in one night!" he whispered excitedly.

"Twice! You lucky bastard! I'm feeling guilty as hell, and I got lucky _once_ last night!"

"You're f&ing kidding me, Maygent. With whom, may I ask? Maria?"

"No. It was… Janita."

"Are you going to tell Chrissie? Have you ever done something like this before? This isn't like you, Maygent. I always considered you to be, well, along with Jiff, the most steady-headed of us all."

The sound of his wife's name gave the curly haired man gooseflesh. "I—well, you know what, you're just going to yell at me, just like Jiff Daff did earlier. I'm not in the mood for another lecture."

"Do you honestly think _I_ have room to talk, Maygent? Look at me! I'm just a musical prostitute!"

"Thank God you're not getting up in my face about this, Frenkie. You're a good friend."

"—Although I must add, Maria was crushed when she found out I was—well, you know that story. I don't think she ever did recover from that blow. I'll repay her some day, for all her hard work, in whatever way I can. Chrissie has given you three beautiful children; please refrain from shattering her heart to pieces."

"How can I? God, you're making me feel worse than ever! I don't want to be with her anymore; I want to get a divorce."

"You are blowing my mind, Maygent! And this all occurred to you, in what, twenty-four hours?"

"If you are going to lecture me, please let me know first so that I can leave the room," Maygent muttered.

"Are you going to continue your relationship with Janita?" Frenkie asked instead.

"Well, yes, that's what I was hoping. You know me; I can't be with two women at one time."

"There's always a first time," Frenkie added playfully. The look he received from Maygent wiped his smile away. "I'm sorry," he said to Maygent. "I believe that you'll make the right decision, whatever that may be."

"Thanks, Frenkie. I'm going to go see if she's up," Maygent muttered, patting his friend's shoulder.

He was met at the base of the stairs by Janita, whose face was flushed, and quite irate, by the look of it.

"Hello, Janit—"

A sudden slap from her caused him to cease speaking, and clutch his throbbing cheek. Two slaps in less than an hour for the quiet, unassuming man.

"What was _that_ for?"

"You just left me, without a word. I thought I meant something to you, because I would never ever have—"

He put a finger to her lips. "Jiff Daff dragged me out of there last night, while you were sleeping peacefully. Apparently he didn't wake you as he was chastising me."

"Why was he doing that? Your life is none of his business."

"He's a family man, very monogamous, very protective of family values. He has a wife, and five children to boot. He thought I was making a mistake by sleeping with another woman, and wished to lecture me all morning on it."

"I'm sorry I slapped you," she apologized. It was then that Jim descended the stairs, looking perplexed by the closeness between his fiancée and the tall curly-haired man.

"Well, good morning, darling; how did you sleep?" he asked her. That damn Frenkie had left him to an empty bed in the morning, but alas, even though he had expected the singer to leave, the feeling of abandonment still bothered him. He knew that until he found out exactly what had occurred last night, he'd have to butter his fiancée up to stay with him. The feeling of abandonment was truly an awful feeling, and he hoped it wouldn't occur again.

"I slept… well," she responded hesitantly, darting her eyes briefly to make eye contact with Maygent's. "You?"

"I slept well, as well," he said, laughing at the sound of the words.

Now that Janita had heard Maygent's side, she believed him, and in turn, did not want to leave Dargen Lodge as first planned. Maybe breakfast would be offered; that would stall them.

Maygent spoke up. "Would you two enjoy some breakfast?" he asked them, producing a wide smile on Janita's face.

The trio proceeded to the kitchen, where Frenkie was sitting at the table in his own silken robe and brightly coloured shorts, reading the morning paper, taking a drag on a cigarette, and munching a bagel while waiting for the kettle to whistle.

"Well, good morning everyone! Janita, _Jim_," he said a bit coyly, winking at the mustached man. "Please, pull up a stool!"

Janita sat solemnly at the table between Maygent and Jim, who preferred to sit directly at Frenkie's side. She noticed him sinking ever so slowly onto the stool, and wondered why. Frenkie grinned as he, too, noticed Jim's hesitancy to sit.

"Don't worry, dear, you'll get used to it," he said, winking at the embarrassed man.

Something had definitely gone on between Frenkie and Jim, and Janita felt herself get a bit envious. Actually, the envy didn't last long; it was replaced by nausea. How had she not seen it before? Six years she waited for him. Six _years _of total and utter chastity. Jim was g—

The kettle began to whistle, making everyone jerk in their seats, Jim rather uncomfortably. Frenkie stood up, placing his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, and in a very chipper manner, poured the steaming hot water into a teacup, placing a teabag daintily at its side on the platter.

"Tea, anyone?" he asked, holding the teacup in one hand and kettle in another.

"I'll have one," Maygent mumbled.

"Me too," Janita added.

Frenkie smiled and put down his own teacup as Jiff Daff entered the room. "Let me get them some tea, Frenkie; go, sit down."

The dark-haired singer did as he was told, lowering himself onto the stool while shaking out his left leg.

"What are you doing, Frenkie?" Maygent asked the irritated singer.

"My—bloody foot, it's completely numb; actually quite painful, really." He clenched his teeth, obviously in pain. "Damn it, wake up!"

Once he was seated, he smoked his cigarette whilst merrily chatting with Jim as Janita noticed the subtle nuances of romance between the pair. They had most likely slept together last night. How had she been so naïve, watching Jim gazing at the singer adoringly during the concert, his eyes and body full of interest for the man? It didn't feel quite as evil and sinful to have slept with Maygent now, realizing just what her fiancé—well, soon to be ex- fiancé, had done.

Jiff Daff poured them all some tea and proceeded to get himself one, when

Maria happened to enter the room, immediately startled by the large crowd.

"Oh. Pardon me; I didn't realize you were all… still… here."

Janita proceeded to smile at Maria, and noticed Frenkie averting his eyes a bit. Was there some complicated web of relationships between everyone that she was just beginning to notice?

It was then that Bocky entered the room, grinning ear to ear.

"Well, hello there, Bocky. Come, have a seat," Frenkie greeted his lover, as he patted the empty stool to his left.

"Which would you like me to do first?" Bocky commented, immediately bursting out in laughter. Frenkie and Jim apparently understood the joke as well, and laughed until tears came to their eyes.

The blond sat down and was poured himself a steaming cup of tea. Maria stood nearby, watching the group.

"Would anybody like some food with your tea? Some crumpets, perhaps?"

"Sounds good to me, Maria. Thank you," Frenkie told her, smiling shyly. "Anyone else?" he asked, looking around the group.

Several others nodded.

"How about some fresh fruit as well?" she added. "I could also make some omelets, or French toas—"

"Oh, don't _bother_ to cook, Maria. You've been working like a mule. The fruit would be alright, though." He winked at her.

She smiled and nodded as she went to the refrigerator for the fruit. The bowl she came back with was brimming with cantaloupe, banana slices, apples, honeydew, watermelon, and grapes. Some orange slices were positioned like the spokes of a wheel atop the arrangement. It was truly a stunning, edible work of art.

"Wow, what a gorgeous feast!" Frenkie commented. "Thank you so very much, Maria!" He stood up and gave the groupie a huge hug, as the rest of the group expressed their thanks and dug in to the fruit.

The crumpets soon arrived, looking delicious. They were gone in less than ten minutes by the hungry group. It was then that Frenkie got on a coughing jag, having to actually excuse himself from the table, as he continued the deep, raspy coughs in the hallway. Maria hurried to his side, giving him a glass of water, and the coughing spell ended. He returned to the table and sat down sullenly, yet cheering up quickly at the sight of familiar and unfamiliar new faces.

"What are you all so concerned about? I'm fine!" he said, picking up the cigarette again. Jim touched his hand.

"Maybe you should lay off those a bit, Frenkie. You just got finished with the most _awful_ bought of coughing."

Frenkie stared at Jim as if bitten. The group sat in stunned silence, with only the ticking of the clock as a sound. Maygent, Jiff Daff, and Maria almost scoffed aloud. He told _Frenkie _to slow his cigarette consumption down? Frenkie was infamous for his chain-smoking and had smoked for years. Janita and Bocky remembered the outburst the night before, hoping Frenkie's temper wouldn't erupt once more.

"Maybe I should, Jim," he said warmly, patting the mustached man's shoulder.

It seemed like the room itself let out a sigh at that remark, and everything was calm again.

* * *

Opinions? Questions? Review (preferably, for opinions andfeedback), or send me an email at my email address (esp if you have a question about the nature of this story). My addy ismentioned in the first chapter, in case you're wondering.


	5. Secret Elevator

Thank you so much for reviewing my story, Mistress of Mordor, horselover95831, and DarkKrystal! I do think that at least one of you (maybe horselover?) gets what this story is about at another level, and if not, email me and I'll tell you what the 'level' is. Thanks guys, and review again! I have two new chapters for you to review! ;)

* * *

Later on in the afternoon, Frenkie sat in the living room taking a few drags from a cigarette and cuddling with his favorite cat, Samson, when Jim entered.

"Well, hello there, dear," the singer said. Jim smiled, and took a seat next to Frenkie, noting his return to the bad habit.

"What happened earlier between us, Frenkie, did that mean anything to you?" Jim blurted out; he hoped that Frenkie felt the same way for him as he felt for the singer.

"Pardon?" He turned to Jim, and then glanced at his cigarette, immediately extinguishing it with a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, it's a bad habit, a horrid habit, of mine. I'm what you could call a _chain_ smok—"

"Oh, that's not what I was referring to," Jim said, laughing and lightly smacking Frenkie across the back. "I was referring to—last night."

"What was the question again? I'm sorry, I've been awfully absent-minded lately."

"Did it m—well, did the experience mean anything to you?" Jim stuttered.

"They always mean _something_ to me, dear," he said, winking at the man. "I'm not quite sure what you are getting at."

Jim ignored the lack of what he'd consider a suitable response. Frenkie was obviously avoiding the question, but that was alright at the moment. He knew his own feelings on the experience, and that was all that mattered right now.

"Well—what I wanted to say—I don't know how you are going to feel about this—but I'll go ahead and—"

"Spit it out, boy," Frenkie said, grinning playfully.

"Can I—can I stay here, and work for you? I'm a barber by trade, and a decent cook, and I just wa—"

"Oh dear, aren't you mercurial…. Aren't you engaged, dearie?"

"Yes, but… I'm going to cancel that…. I mean, how could I even _think_ of being engaged any more," he murmured, laughing nervously.

"Was last night your first time with a man?" he asked the mustached man.

"Well, yes, but—"

"That's always the case the first time around. You think you've found the love of your life, but then you become jaded and cynical and thirsting and wanting more and more and never feeling satiated—"

"No, I re—I real—I really think I am. I want to be by your side."

Without warning, Frenkie leaned over and kissed Jim firmly, quickly advancing to his tongue being inserted in Jim's mouth, and eventually to the men removing each other's shirts in a lusty fury.

It was then that Jim noticed a large purple bruise across Frenkie's back, seemingly in the same spot he had made light contact with it earlier. Surrounding it were little violet flecks of various shapes and sizes. What had he done?

"Frenkie," he happened to say between kisses, "there's a rather large bruise on your back, I think where I touched you before."

"Oh, it's probably from something else. It's not your fault." He clutched Jim's hand in his own. "Shall we retire to the bedroom?"

"Sounds fine, but we better put our shirts back on; someone might see us."

"Nonsense. I have a private elevator that goes directly to my bedroom."

Jim was puzzled. Frenkie was a young enough man, probably in his mid forties, and he needed a personal elevator?

"May I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," Frenkie said, picking up both shirts from the floor.

"Why do you have a personal elevator? You're so young and strong; it seems like a waste that you should have an elevator…."

"To tell you the truth, dear Jim," he said. "Lately I find that I can't get my legs moving without help. It's the strangest bloody thing, a true mystery. You can imagine it would truly be a fiasco if I would have to descend that staircase every day. I had the elevator installed a month or so ago."

After Frenkie proceeded to lift a book on a nearby bookshelf to activate a revolving wall, the cagelike elevator was revealed in all its hidden glory. Whispering excitedly to themselves, the men ascended the elevator and proceeded to the bedroom, where Jim experienced a physical relationship with Frenkie for the second time.

* * *

I'm sorry this chapter was so short, but I am going to submit two chapters at one time to attempt to make it better for you, the reader. Again, please review, but no reading into this story in your review! Please review! I'm becoming discouraged and don't have the drive to finish the final one or two chapters of my story! Don't worry, though; there's still a few more to go until then. And did I mention, please review! Thanks again to the trio who reviewed! --Crystal 


	6. House Call

Janita found herself alone with Maygent once more, yet this time it was in the study with desks and bookshelves and swiveling chairs.

"I sent for the divorce papers," Maygent admitted to Janita, when they were sure that Jim was long gone. He had disappeared into the living room with Frenkie a while ago, and by the sound of things, he was busy.

The desk did look rather enticing, a nice flat place for Janita to lie. Now that she had been awakened to the sexual life, she found she rather liked it, and only desired more.

"Are you really being serious about this? Because if you're just trying to get me—"

"I _am _serious about this, Janita. I want to be with you."

"I overheard Jiff Daff say you have three children. I'd feel horrible to screw up your fam—"

"It was my doing, Janita. You can't blame yourself for anything bad that should happen. All I know is that I want to continue a relationship with you."

After a life of chastity, including six years of deep friendship with Jim, if you could call it that, Janita had found a normal, red-blooded man. The pair began to kiss once more, leading to another tryst, but on the desk this time.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

Jim awoke to find an utterly exhausted Frenkie fast asleep next to him. Footsteps approached, and he grew fearful.

"Frenkie, wake up," he said, shaking the still man's shoulder. No response, but he could tell by the rise and fall of Frenkie's chest that he was still breathing.

"Frenkie, someone's coming; please wake up," he coaxed, frantically attempting to wake the man next to him.

Just as the door opened, Frenkie awoke, looking pale and exhausted.

"What the f—_Jim_?"

"Frenkie, you look like hell," a voice came from the doorway. It was Jiff Daff. "I'm calling Dr. Scott in; this has gone on long enough."

As Frenkie tried to sit up in vain, Jim slipped his clothes back on and stood by the bed.

"Could you please tell me what's going on, Frenkie? Are you ill or something?" Jim asked, perplexed.

"Ugh," Frenkie moaned, falling fast asleep once more.

Jim left the room hesitantly, catching up to Jiff Daff on the stairs. "What is wrong with him, Jiff Daff?" he asked the somber, frizzy-haired man.

"Personally, I think he's contracted a disease. However, that cannot be substantiated until Dr. Scott comes by."

He went into the kitchen, dialing up Dr. Scott. "Dr. Scott, please come quickly to Dargen Lodge. Frenkie's sick, and has been for quite some time. He's having problems waking up. Bring that test for that disease he had tested negative for before; I think he might have it. Right. I'll see you soon then."

"What do you think he has, Jiff Daff?"

"I think it is advisable that you should go home. If he is indeed positive for the disease, I _assure_ you that you will not want to be here."

He stood adamantly. "I'm _not_ leaving him," he responded sternly.

"Suit yourself then. Don't say that I didn't warn you." He disappeared into the bathroom.

Jim ascended the stairs to Frenkie's room once again. "Frenkie," he whispered into the dark room. Frenkie was fast asleep.

He stood alongside the sleeping figure, stroking his hair softly. "Frenkie, wake up, please," he said in vain, for Frenkie did not stir.

Bocky then entered the room, looking confused. "What's going on?" He pointed at Frenkie. "Did he pass out?"

"He's having problems waking up," Jim replied.

"Is he… naked?" Bocky asked, suspicious. The comforter was pulled up to waist level, revealing Frenkie's shirtless state.

"Yes."

"Do you realize that he slept with _me_ last night? You're not his only one, you know."

"Yes, I realize that, but I have become fond of him. I want to help him."

"I happen to think you're a bit desperate, my dear. This lifestyle is all wrong for me," Bocky muttered, hastily leaving the room. He headed downstairs in an upset, preparing to suck Frenkie's chardonnay supply dry.

As for Jim and Frenkie, currently in Frenk's bedroom, the situation was highly tense. He wanted to ask Frenkie just what disease to which Jiff Daff had been referring. And, of course, the question of contagiousness entered his mind, for he had experienced intimate things with Frenkie over the past several hours.

After attempting to wake up Frenkie again several times over the course of a half hour, Jim heard the doorbell chimes and rushed out of the room to pose the first questions to the doctor.

He descended the stairwell to find Jiff Daff opening the door for a man in a wheelchair and his assistant, a woman carrying two large black suitcases. The handicapped man had salt and pepper hair, a goatee, rather large bifocals, and spoke with a thick German accent, leading Jim to the conclusion that he was Dr. Scott.

"Just set zose ova zere, Vendy," he told the woman, who proceeded to place the bags by the banister. "You ken go now, if you vish," he said, with a flip of his wrist. The woman proceeded to leave the home, as Dr. Scott, Jiff Daff, and Jim stood at the base of the stairs.

"Now, vere iz Fvenkie?" he asked the quiet frizzy-haired man.

"He's upstairs, Dr. Scott."

The doctor sighed as he gazed at the stairwell. He turned to Jim quickly.

"Unt who iz zis?" he said, signaling to the mustached man.

"That's Jim, Frenkie's new, uh—"

"Never mynt, I unterstant." He shooed the comment with a hand.

"Frenkie has his own personal elevator to his bedroom," Jim mentioned to Dr. Scott. Jiff Daff could only stare.

"Well, shows how close he was to me," Jim scoffed. "I never even knew about the bloody thing. Where is it?"

"It's over this way," Jim said, walking in the direction of the living room. "It branches off of this room." He strode over to a wall of bookshelves and proceeded to lift a red Bible, causing a wall to revolve around and reveal the elevator.

"My gootness, how convenient for me," Dr. Scott said, wheeling himself in. "I'm sorry, but you'll neet to greb my briefcazes; zey are in ze foyer, et ze base of ze staircaze."

Without waiting for a movement from Jiff Daff, Jim trotted off in the direction of the briefcases and brought them into the elevator, where Jiff Daff and Dr. Scott were waiting.

"Ve vould hev vent up vizout you, but ve figurt ze might be heavy," the doctor commented.

Jim thanked them for waiting, and they reached Frenkie's bedroom within a matter of seconds. Dr. Scott wheeled himself to the bed, shaking his head.

"Mein Gott," he murmured, staring at the sleeping figure. "Zis does not look promisink."

* * *

I will apologize again if you can't read the German-accented-pronunciation stuff. If you have any question, even one, about the nature of "sumsink" Dr. Scott is saying, email me at myaddy. Again, no detective work, but do review, dearies:P


	7. Dinner

He had Jim set his suitcase on the bed and open it for him, and then he pulled out some smelling salts.

"Zis vill vake him up rahzer kvickly," he noted, passing them under Frenkie's nose a few times.

Maygent, Janita, and Maria entered the room soon afterwards, hearing all the commotion and Dr. Scott's German accent that stuck out like a sore thumb in the British home.

Frenkie did indeed awaken without hesitation, to find himself in bed, surrounded by Jim, Jiff Daff, Maygent, Janita, Maria, and his trusted physician, Dr. Scott.

"Are you avake, Fvenkie?" the doctor asked him, watching him flutter his eyelids.

"Yes, I believe so, but now I'm dizzy as hell. Has something happened? Why is everyone here?"

"Jiff Daff advist me to come, to give you a test. He sinks you may be infectet vis some sort of disease."

"Oh, did he?" He turned and scowled at the frizzy-haired man.

"Fvenkie, you know you neet to be testet again. You've been so exhaustet lately, unt numb in your extremities, unt I ken honestly say it looks like you've dropt tventy pounts since I last saw you a munt ago."

"I agree, Frenkie. You do need tested," Maria added. "You—and your lovers—deserve to know what's really going on."

"But what if it's positive?" he yelped. "My whole life would have to change…. I'd rather not know, personally."

"Okay, Fvenkie. Even if you do not vant to know, I do sink your lovers shoult know. Coult everyone clear ze room? Maybe Fvenkie vants some privacy."

Everyone began to leave the room, with only Jim dawdling behind. "Would you like me to stay, Frenkie? I'll stay here with you, if you'd like."

Frenkie sighed. "If you really want to stay you can. However, you may be treating me very differently once the results come back."

"It doesn't matter what this test says, Frenkie. I'm going to stick by you," Jim replied earnestly.

He took a place at Frenkie's side, sitting next to him in bed and holding his hand. Dr. Scott pulled out the blood tests and set up various coloured flasks on the nightstand.

"When will you know the results of this test, Dr. Scott?" Jim asked the man.

"Vell, until now, ze tests took several weeks to get ze results back. However, I unt my colleagues in Transylvania hev since inventet a testink messod zet gives results vissin an hour. Unt it iz extremely accurate."

"Oh, _don't _say that, Dr. Scott," Frenkie moaned.

"So you sink you hev it, Fvenkie?" Dr. Scott responded, seeing Frenkie's frightened stare. "Don't fret qvite yet; ve vill know for sure in an hour."

"I'm not absolutely sure, but let's just get these bloody tests over with, alright?"

Dr. Scott proceeded to extract some of Frenkie's blood, and then he placed several drops from the sample in each of the four tubes, and shook them rapidly.

"Now, zis vill tek about an hour to settle out," Dr. Scott explained to the pair, as he repositioned the tubes. "Shall ve go downstairs for ze time beink?"

"Okay, we'll meet you down there, Dr. Scott." Frenkie spoke up. "Don't worry, though; we'll be down in a few seconds. I need to change my clothes."

The doctor departed and the two men were left alone, to watch the droplets of blood float on the surface of the fluid in the various tubes.

"What disease is he referring to, Frenkie? Please tell me."

"I don't think you want to know, dear Jim. It's a rather fearful disease, and right now I'm scared to f&&ing death."

"I won't leave you, whatever the test results may be," Jim replied earnestly.

"Alright, I hope you're not bluffing, because I've really taken quite a fancy to you," Frenkie said, attempting to smile. Jim shook his head.

"It's the BAND virus, Jim. That fairly new disease. It's already killed some of my friends and ex-lovers. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

He draped a leg over the edge of the bed, remaining covered by the comforter. Jim rose to his feet and closed the bedroom door, allowing for Frenkie to get out of the bed without being seen. However, when Frenkie stood at bedside in his nudity, Jim noticed just how serious his disease, whatever it may be, was. Frenkie was covered in little purplish dots, and there were bruises along the entire length of his back, legs, and arms, with a few near his groin as well. He had a strange bumpy rash at the base of his spine, and his hips seemed to jut out of his skin.

How had he not noticed the terrible shape that Frenkie was in? Of course, that first night it had been very dark and he had not seen the various marks on the man's skin. The second time was in very dim light as well, until now, whereas the sunlight through the curtains illuminated those hideous purplish growths and specks all over his person.

After Frenkie put on some clothing, the pair headed downstairs, although Frenkie was still a bit lightheaded and had to lean on Jim for support. They sat solemnly at the large oaken dinner table, staring at the wood with dead stares, not sure what to say to each other. Jim, in his occasional glances about his new environment, noted that the dining room was truly a gorgeous one, with an enormous golden chandelier above the reflective surface of the smooth oak and the twelve matching chairs; however, now the atmosphere of the house and its amazing beauty only held dread and anxiousness. Maria came into the dining room, wearing an apron.

"Would you like me to make some dinner?" she asked the solemn pair.

"I'm not feeling very hungry at the moment, but thank you for offering, Maria," Frenkie responded glumly.

"You know what? You look terrible right now. I'm going to make you something anyway. You have to keep your strength up, Frenkie…."

"Do you know something I don't know?" he snapped.

"No, I just think you need to keep eating—"

"You can't tell me what to do! I can do what I damn well please! Everyone is always trying to run my f&&#ing life, and I'm getting bloody tired of it!"

He slammed his fist down on the table, making a wine glass tip over and break at the stem.

"Fine, have it your way," Maria snarled. She ripped off her apron and stormed out of the room.

Jim was left at the table with Frenkie, as the other members of the large house group entered the room: Jiff Daff, Maygent, Dr. Scott, a drunken Bocky, and Janita. They all hesitated to enter the room, but when greeted with a halfhearted smile and friendly gesture by Frenkie, they proceeded to take their seats.

Jiff Daff and Maygent were the main two to speak, but they kept their conversation at a low volume as Janita and Dr. Scott looked on. Bocky was so intoxicated at this point; he laid his head on the table and passed out.

All of a sudden, there was a terrible uproar amidst the guests as a stream of blood made its way to the center of the table, meandering towards Bocky's face—and mouth—as well. Janita jumped to her feet, while Maygent and Jiff Daff stared fearfully. Jim felt the urge to protect Frenkie, but it seemed that Frenkie himself had produced the substance.

"Where the bloody hell is _that_ coming from?" Jiff Daff commented, looking for the source. Dr. Scott shook his head.

"Oh my God, it's your blood, Frenkie!" Maygent exclaimed. "It must have been from when you slammed your fist down earlier!"

"How do _you_ know I slammed my fist down, Maygent? Were you spying on me?"

"I heard it, and I came over, thinking someone had fallen. I see something did _indeed_ fall," he said, signaling to the broken glass still on the tabletop.

The group watched the blood trickle its way to the unconscious Bocky's mouth.

"Oh my God," Maria said to herself, as she stood in the doorway. "What if he acquires whatever Frenkie has?"

"Vake him up!" Dr. Scott yelled, from his momentarily sessile position on the other side of the table. "Ve ken't let him be in contect viss Fvenkie's blut!"

Jim shook the unconscious man, watching in horror as the blood made contact with Bocky's lip.

"Oh, God, now what?" he asked Dr. Scott.

"Ve still ken vipe it off hiz lip. Ze epidermis iz practically impossible for most diseases to croz."

Just after the doctor finished talking, Bocky jolted his head up, instinctively licking the blood off of his lip. Dr. Scott's eyes widened, as he began to go into a frenzy.

"Ve neet to get him to a hospital right avay! He neets to hev his stomach pumpt!" He turned to Bocky, who was at the moment, confused as hell. "You hev just ingestet Fvenkie's blut! Ve can't tek any risks if Fvenkie inteet carries a disease!"

"Wow, I'm happy _you've_ all given me a clean bill of health," Frenkie quipped sardonically, idly flicking the shards of glass in Maygent's direction.

Jiff Daff jumped up in his seat, as did Bocky, and the two of them went to the hospital, only a few miles away.

The group sat stiffly in their chairs, unsure of what to say to Frenkie, who was obviously in distress, believing that everyone thought he had the disease. Of course, who could blame him? Each of the people around the table had scooted their chairs outwards from the tabletop, where Frenkie's blood began to dry.

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Come on, REVIEW, people! Thank you, Mistress of Mordor, for reviewing my last installment. I've had all these chapters ready to go for a long time, but since nobody bothered saying anything about chapter 6, I figured I'd wait. Just in reviews don't mention any parallels. You've all been great about that. Thank you! Review though. I hope you review again as well, horselover. I think you happened to 'get' my story, and perhaps Mistress of Mordor as well. Maybe DarkKrystal, because no one asked. Again, review! The more reviews I get, the sooner I update! (Heck, it could be tomorrow or the next day!) --Crystal 

PS: If you have any questions about what Dr. Scott is saying, DON'T be afraid to ask me, either. You have access to my email address on my author site. Thanks.


	8. Results

Initially in fear of seeing his fist, Frenkie went into the kitchen, followed closely by Jim, to examine the source of the blood. He turned his hand over, revealing a large cut, its blood finally beginning to coagulate, with ugly hardened projections of gelatinous blood hanging from its boundaries. A large bruise, black and swollen with blood, had formed around the cut, causing the edge of Frenkie's hand to be distended with blood. Jim quickly fetched some dressings from the downstairs bathroom and swathed Frenkie's hand in the cloth material.

The innate fear of disease and contamination, highly apparent around the table, what with everyone having moved their chairs a distance away, dissipated quite quickly, however, when Maria, wearing gloves and carrying bleach water and a rag, scrubbed down and sterilized the entire table. Jim and Frenkie returned soon after, to sit sheepishly in the stinging chlorine scent at the table, and no one mentioned another word of the incident.

Jiff Daff returned just as the hour was up. Dr. Scott wheeled his wheelchair away from the table and made his statement.

"I must now check ze test," he announced, beckoning Frenkie over. "Vould you vant to come upstairs viss me, to view ze results?"

"Do you recommend it? Because if you don't, I'd rather stay here," Frenkie responded quietly.

"Very vell, you ken stay here. I'll be back shortly." He wheeled himself off in the direction of the private elevator stemming from, ironically, the _living_ room, and soon a new kind of tenseness was in the air.

As Frenkie returned to his seat at the table, Jim grasped his hand firmly in his own. Frenkie jerked away as if bitten, jolting to a standing position once more.

"Could someone please explain to me how _this _man—" he motioned to Jim—"just _recently_ come into my life, seems to care for me unconditionally, whereas the rest of you pull away automatically like I'm the f&$ing grim reaper!"

He almost pounded his fist down on the table again, but thought better of it.

"Does anyone have any _opinions _on this matter?" he demanded, glaring at Jiff Daff, Maygent, and Maria as she entered the room again.

"Now, Frenkie, I hope that I don't have to get into this with you—" Maria began.

"Well, okay, you're off the hook, but, my God, _they've _known me for nearly two decades and yet recoil as I take my place at the table! Opinions, Maygent, Jiff Daff?"

Jiff Daff stood up solemnly, affixing his face like stone.

"Your lifestyle's too extreme, and you know it; _everyone_ knows it. We cannot take the risk of becoming infected with your potentially diseased blood because we've _known_ you for a long time."

As Frenkie stood at the opposite end of the table from the stone-faced Jiff Daff, his eyes grew wide, for the elevator had clanged into operation. The results would soon be told.

Dr. Scott wheeled himself into the dining room solemnly as the group studied his face for what he might say.

"Voult you like me to tell you in pvivate, Fvenkie?" he asked the singer.

"Okay…." Frenkie was now shaking, and his legs felt like collapsing beneath him. It seemed like he was headed for the scaffold of his death, and he pulled himself along with enormous hesitation.

Dr. Scott led Frenkie into the living room, where he stopped in the far corner to tell the panicked man his fate.

"Fvenkie," he said tenderly, "I… am so veddy soddy to tell you zis. You testet positive for BAND."

Frenkie could only stand and gape at the doctor, feeling his eyes brimming with tears. "Oh no," he whispered, his voice already racked with sobs. He slowly sunk to his knees on the plush carpet, letting the tears flow silently. "Are you sure, Dr. Scott? That test is accurate?"

"Yes, I'm afrait so, Fvenkie. Zere iz no qvestion zet you hev ze disease. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies."

"So, I'm going to die, then?" Frenkie sobbed. "How long do I have to live?"

"Vell, zere are some drugs on ze market. Zey are not affective at curink ze disease, but zey can treat some of itz symptoms unt slow it down a bit."

"You didn't answer my question! Am I going to die?"

"Ve all are goink to die someday, Fvenkie," was the response.

Frenkie glared up at the doctor with hatred, but his gaze softened quickly with a new emergence of tears.

"I… I need to go out and tell them…. Th—they… deserve to know what's going on." He stood up and wiped his eyes on his shirt until his face was dry. However, upon looking in a mirror he saw that his eyes were red. He'd be figured out before he'd said a word.

It was to be the hardest moment of his life. Frenkie, gathering up as much grace and courage as he could, strode out into the dining room where his friends were waiting patiently. He gave them all a half-smile, and stood at the head of the table.

"I have tested… positive for the BAND virus," he said, his voice beginning to break.

"Oh my God"s were heard throughout the group, with Maria, in tears, having to leave the room, sobbing openly as she departed. Jim, feeling his eyes begin to water as well, stood up and put his arm around Frenkie's waist, allowing for the broken man to cry on his shoulder, since it was impossible for anyone to keep a dry eye after the devastating news.

Everyone at the table was reacting to the news with sorrow, after the initial horror from Frenkie's announcement. Even Janita was crying for the man she barely knew, realizing that he had not long to live. She had seen the news about the new virus on the news several times, learning of many around the entire globe dying from the disease, often very quickly once the initial disease had progressed to the last throes of the BAND virus.

Jiff Daff and Maygent were crying as well, although in their own silent ways. Jiff Daff's emotions were hard to decipher at this point, but, alas, his feelings were _always_ difficult to read. Both men had known Frenkie for almost twenty years, and, although they had never participated in a relationship further than friendship and coworker-ship, neither could bear the thought of losing him. Whether or not Frenkie determined their feelings on the subject is not known, for his own emotions were unrestrained and dread was all he could know.

Frenkie soon collapsed into a chair, weeping at his misfortune and impending doom. No one could make eye contact with each other, seeing as how each had their own ways of reacting to the tragic news. Even Jim was having doubts about his decisions now, but Frenkie was all he found himself to care about, and he had to be loyal. Frenkie was a good man and they could take care of each other.

After the crying had all but completely subsided, Maria reentered the room, seemingly angry. She made her way to the opposite side of the table, wiping her nose with a tissue.

"Why didn't you just stay with me, Frenkie? We were happy together, for seven_ years_! I _loved_ you, Frenkie, you know that? But you spurned me for Tony, and Charles, and Dick, and Joe, and Bill, and Vince, and Bocky, and _Jim_"—she signaled to Jim—"and the countless others you helped yourself to over the years! I only pray that you spared _them _the disease!" She ran out of the room sobbing, causing a whole new wave of tears to come over Frenkie.

* * *

If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all. --Thumper 


	9. A Request

This was so hard for me to write, that I'm going to post the last two chapters at one time. Please don't flame me or point out things that shouldn't be pointed out in your review. If you have any kind of specific comment (hopefully a constructive one) email me. Thank you. Review if you'd like to.

* * *

A couple of months passed, with Frenkie's health steadily declining. He had been started on the medication, but the side effects seemed to be worse than the disease itself. Jim and Maria took excellent care of him during that time, providing him with buckets for when he felt the urge to throw up, which was quite often, and cleaning him an additional amount, since he could no longer reach his feet or scrub his back with a brush when he took his shower. The fragile purplish wounds prevented him from cleaning himself with anything but a rag or the bar of soap itself, for they'd burst open and bleed, and he'd have to sit in the shower until the bleeding ceased, watching his infected blood flow down the drain, knowing no one could help him.

Frenkie lost more and more weight, becoming skeletonized and dreadfully pale. His hair was now dry and dull, beginning to fall out in clumps from his head and chest. He attempted to cover the emaciation of his jawline by neglecting to shave. Even so, the slow loss of his hair kept his facial hair from growing very quickly. Frenkie's body was breaking down, ceasing to fight, and Jim and Maria watched it all in horror.

It was a cold night in late fall when Frenkie gave up.

"I can't do this anymore, Jim. I can't live like this, taking thirty-some medicines a day to keep me alive. I've decided to quit taking the drugs." He said to Jim, as he lay in his bed.

His partner looked at him with fear in his eyes. "Frenkie, please think about what you're saying. Quitting the drugs will only hasten fate." He held Frenkie's cold, bony hand in his own.

"Fate is inevitable, Jim," Frenkie answered feebly. "I have brought this upon myself, and I have decided to end it as well."

Maria entered the room shortly afterwards, as the water in Jim's eyes began to slide down his cheeks. Frenkie spoke up, pulling himself into a seated position.

"Jim, could you excuse Maria and me for a second? Please?"

"Alright," he replied, making his way into the hallway and shutting the door behind him. What could _that _possibly be about? Since he had met the man, he had been his devoted slave. Maria seemed to have a long history with Frenkie, for she had been working for him since they broke up as girlfriend and boyfriend, he had discovered. The house usually held the trio now, for Janita and Maygent had taken a holiday, as the divorce was being finalized. Oh, Maygent's wife was devastated, but he had apparently pissed her off enough in his explanation why he wanted a divorce, that she signed the papers anyway. Jiff Daff came around more often than the pair, but was obviously very disturbed to know a dying man lie in the house.

In the room the former couple was alone.

"Maria, I have decided to stop taking the drugs. This is no way to live. I can't do this anymore—"

"But, why, Frenkie? You have plenty of money to afford them. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. You don't have to do this—"

"I do, Maria. I deeply and sincerely regret that I did not stay with you; and it's not just because I am dying and would have avoided if I had remained with you. Sometimes I find it hard to _breathe_ when I think about all the terrible decisions I made throughout my life, and leaving you was one of the worst ones."

"You didn't leave me, Frenkie," she said, half laughing, as she stroked the top of his hand. "I'm living in your house!"

"Well, you know what I mean," he said in a serious tone. "It's not about the money or the loneliness, why I'm quitting the drugs. I just can't stand being sick every day of my life, knowing that somewhere in the near future is my death, and that I'll slowly fade into it. Soon I'll lose the ability to step into the shower, and then I'll lose the ability to get up to use the restroom. I just can't see myself prolonging that, since it's obviously going to happen to me at some point."

She squatted down next to his bed. "I can understand your reasoning, but Frenkie, maybe they'll find a cure before too long…."

"I highly doubt it. They know nothing about this virus, nothing! It just occurred less than a decade ago. It's killing people everywhere, people with no money to afford the fancy treatments I get. What makes _me_ more important, that I should be able to prolong the inevitable, while they die within _weeks _of their full-blown condition?"

He watched Maria as she began to cry. "Oh, Frenkie, why didn't you tell me how you felt when you were in better shape? I just wish there was something I could do, some way I could reverse what is happening to you. You're so strong, Frenkie, for being able to deal with this in such a graceful way. I'm so proud of you; I want you to know that. I have _always _been proud of you, even though I may not always show it."

"Thank you so much, Maria. I had to tell you before I carried out my decision. You are the most important person in my life, no matter what impression you've gotten otherwise. I am so sorry that I was not able to be a husband for you, and—"

She put her fingers on his dry, cracked lips. "Save your strength, Frenkie; that's what you must do now."

He wrapped his hand around hers. "One more thing: I must tell you my final wish. Before I die, may I have a farewell concert? You know, with me, Jiff Daff, Maygent, Rodge, and the fans? Just one more, to tell them all goodbye."

"I'm sure they'll agree to that." Maria fought back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. "I—will try my hardest to make your wish come true, Frenkie, because _no one_ deserves it more than you."

Before she could burst forth in sobs, Maria patted Frenkie's hand and left the room. Jim was standing by the door, and was surprised to see a crying Maria exit the room. Slowly he reentered Frenkie's bedroom, watching Frenkie toss the medicine jars and boxes into a nearby trash can.

"So, you've decided to give up, Frenkie," he said, sighing. "Will you tell Dr. Scott about it?"

"Yes, I suppose so," he responded weakly. "Come closer, Jim."

Jim knelt at the bedside, looking into Frenkie's bloodshot eyes. Frenkie took Jim's hand in his own and began to sing him a song, full of love and emotion.

"When I'm gone,

You mustn't wonder if I was in love with you

The sun still shines

The moon still glows

For you and me, and time is just a fantasy

When I'm gone

Remember me as when you'd come to care for me

Night turns to dawn

But dreams live on

When you are fast asleep, then you can be with me

When I'm gone"

By the end of the song, Jim was weeping openly, and Frenkie was beginning to feel the pangs of guilt for leaving Jim so soon after meeting the devoted man.

* * *

Read the final chapter.


	10. The Show Must Go On

Please, if you don't like the end of this story, or if you think I handled things inappropriately, don't tell me. If you hadn't caught the plot of the story from the get-go, then I'm sorry to have mislead you. It was incredibly difficult for me to write this, but coincidences abounded and I combined them and handled them as softly, gently, and respectfully as I could. Thank you. --Crystal

* * *

The concert had been planned for the late fall, a mere three weeks from Frenkie's decision to speed his own death. Maygent and Jiff Daff would be taking part in the concert, as well as your dear narrator. You must pardon me for not introducing myself sooner. My name is Rodge, and I am a coworker of Frenkie's as well, and visited him from time to time during his ailment. However, I was not there those first fateful nights that Janita and Jim first came to Dargen Lodge; I was told the story by Maygent and Jiff Daff after Fr—well, I mustn't go into that quite yet. 

Maria hustled about Frenkie's enormous house in preparation for the most outstanding concert ever, a concert packed full of fans, fans unknowing of Frenkie's dire condition. Her experience with makeup and Jim's experience with hair would keep him looking his best, and cover up his dreadfully skeletal, blemished appearance.

The night of the concert arrived after an eerily long three weeks watching Frenkie's health steadily decline. Jim and Maria worked around the clock keeping the emaciated Frenkie comfortable and well-fed yet bedridden most of the time, for any physical activity exhausted and sickened him. He now had infections of all types plaguing his body, and a rather serious case of bronchitis, but he planned on sticking it out and giving his last concert everything he had. When Maria insisted upon him taking antibiotics for the various infections, he refused, and so, his condition was allowed to fall further.

Jiff Daff, Maygent, and Janita participated in setting up the chairs in the ballroom for the concert. The chandeliers were polished until they gleamed, and the multitude of floral arrangements—mainly roses—filled the air with their perfumy scent. This room was no longer a room of disease and impending doom—it was a light-hearted and splendid room forever echoing with the music of Frenkie and his group.

The audience began to pour into Dargen Lodge at the precise door opening of seven p.m. Janita and Maygent did valet parking, for the London streets were soon packed on either side with vehicles of all types, the police force having been handed quite a sum of money for an evening free of parking tickets and complaints. This was a special night for Frenkie, one night in his life that was planned to follow through smoothly without a hitch.

In the heavy staleness of his bedroom, surrounded by his beloved cats, Frenkie heard the din of the fans entering his home.

"They have begun to arrive," he whispered excitedly to Samson, his favorite cat. Finding some strength, he pulled himself up to a seated position against the headboard, and draped a skinny leg over the edge of the bed.

"I wonder where the hell Maria is," he grumbled, making the cat hiss and scamper away as he accidentally used its body to keep balance on the soft mattress.

Jim soon entered the room, noticing Frenkie's renewed strength and energy. The past few weeks had been difficult for Frenkie and his helpers, what with an increase in usage of sponge baths, portable urinals, and bedpans as the current week had begun.

"Would you like a quick haircut, Frenkie?" he asked his lover.

"If you think I need it," Frenkie responded. "Could you also try to style my hair? Hopefully Maria will be arriving soon to apply my makeup. Do you know where she is?"

A pang of jealousy coursed through Jim's veins. He knew that Maria was devoted to Frenkie and could understand her devotion; it just upset him to know that he would never be as dear to Frenkie as Maria was.

"I don't know where Maria is, but I'll give you a quick cut and style to prepare you tonight. You're going to be great, Frenkie."

Jim's emotions were raging. He held back the tears that threatened to emerge, not wishing to upset Frenkie in his most likely final moment of glory.

The barber placed a flattened trash bag on the floor behind Frenkie as he sat in his padded parlor chair. Frenkie's hips and rear were so bony now that any type of contact with surfaces had to be cushioned, for the contact chaffed his fragile skin.

He began to snip Frenkie's hair with the scissors, watching the sweaty yet damaged strands fall to the ground and land on the bag.

"You've really broken out into quite a sweat, Frenkie," he mentioned to his lover, attempting some light laughter, even though he was far from enjoying the moment. Every day the love of his life was becoming more and more gaunt and sickly and it seemed as if he had acquired every type of infection that any healthy person could easily shrug off. These infections crippled Frenkie and made it harder for him to function, so now any motion around the house simply had to be done via his bedroom elevator and the use of wheelchairs.

"I sweat all bloody day. If the sweat keeps up like it has been, I'll _never_ need a bath again." The emaciated performer began to laugh, which turned into a hoarse cough that rattled so intensely that Jim had to hand him the glass of water that he had been dipping the comb in.

The haircut continued, and soon Maria entered the parlor.

"You're doing a great job on his hair, Jim," she commented. "Frenkie, let me know when you'd like your makeup done."

"Actually I'm just finishing up," Jim interrupted. He combed a few more times through Frenkie's shorter and less-shaggy hairstyle until the last strands floated to the ground, and moved out of the way for the woman of the house.

Maria pulled Frenkie's chair out from the desk, and knelt down in front of him with a bag of makeup.

"Would you rather leave that stubble on your face, or shav—"

"I'll leave it here. This is probably the last hair I'll ever be able to grow," he glumly replied.

She touched his hand. "Don't say that, Frenkie. You're doing fine—" I must cut in here. That was a blatant lie on her part, and she knew it, but she had to keep Frenkie's spirits up, at least for tonight—alright, back to the story—"You mustn't let yourself get down about such trivial things, Frenkie."

Jim felt uncomfortable in the room with the pair, and hastily left to find other things with which to help.

As Maria finished up applying Frenkie's thick yet pasty foundation, he happened to glance at himself in the mirror.

"Oh, Maria, I look dreadfully pale. Even more than I do without makeup. This won't wor—"

"What do you propose I do then, Frenkie? Make everyone else in the group wear the same shade of foundation?"

And so it was so. Jiff Daff, Maygent, and myself were called up to Frenkie's parlor, whereas we all received the same sort of makeup as Frenkie, so he should not stick out like a sore thumb. Mind you, Maria did not use the same makeup brush on us that she had used on Frenkie, for it was unknown how Frenkie's disease could be transmitted, and so we were safe with the other makeup kit and brush. We even wore eyeliner, mascara, blush, and lipstick like poor dear Frenkie, for now _all_ of our faces looked washed out, and would be more so in the bright lights of the ballroom.

We changed into our respective costumes, with Frenkie's being much more modest than usual. Of course, that was understandable, because now he was so skinny—a bloody bag of bones—that any form-fitting suit would have only accentuated his frail condition.

For the past week we had chosen the final song we would be singing with Frenkie. The poor man was so exhausted that he feared being unable to even get through the one song, yet he had written another for the occasion along with the final song that would illuminate Frenkie's hopes and announce them to the world.

Jim helped Frenkie get into his costume, which consisted of a pair of decently baggy black jeans, a black denim vest, and a red t-shirt. The makeup was unable to hide the purplish marks around his neck, and so Frenkie decided to wear a red boa.

"Frenkie, you'll be great out there tonight. I am so proud of you," he told the dark-haired man.

"I just want to make it through the song, and then perhaps I'll believe that anybody could actually be _proud _of me," Frenkie responded bitterly.

Jiff Daff entered the room. "Frenkie, it's time to go," he said calmly, as Maygent waited behind him with Janita by his side and me even further away from Frenkie's parlor door.

"One second," Jim said to Frenkie. The dark-haired man shot him a confused look. "He'll be right out," Jim continued. Jiff Daff shut the door.

Jim looked at Frenkie, a feeling of dread creeping upon him.

"Frenkie, I love you," he confessed to the singer, leaning towards him affectionately. He pulled a gold ring out of his pocket, sparkling with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, and held it out to Frenkie.

"Oh, how beautiful," Frenkie said, gaping at the ring gleefully. "Are these real stones? My goodness, I don't think anyone's ever bought me a rin—" Actually, he had previously received a ring from Maria, when they were girlfriend and boyfriend. The glimmer in his eyes faded, but his smile remained.

"Yes, they are real, just like my love for y—"

"Well, we'd better get a move on, dear Jim," he said, avoiding the ring.

Instead, Jim grabbed his hand. "How do you feel about me, Frenkie?"

"Silly boy, you mustn't put me on the spot like this before the big show."

"It shouldn't be hard to answer—" Jim was desperate for some real feedback.

Frenkie pulled his hand away. "How about I tell you my feelings after the concert?" he offered, attempting a feeble smile.

Jim sighed. He'd be shut out like this forever from the one person he truly loved. Hunching his shoulders, he left the room to fetch the wheelchair.

"Wait—where are you going, Jim?" Frenkie said, attempting to turn his head to look.

"I'm going to get you your wheelchair—"

"Nonsense. I'm _walking_ to the concert." And with that he stood to his feet, knees knocking together only slightly as he took his first unaided steps in more than a week. Jim watched in wonder, feeling happiness for Frenkie mixed with disappointment. Was it so hard for Frenkie to say that he loved him too?

Frenkie shuffled stiffly over to the doorway, making his way past Jim as he approached the ballroom door, where Jiff Daff, Maygent and I were waiting. I couldn't imagine seeing Frenkie on his feet anymore, least of all in a casual trip through his house. I had figured he'd attempt to be strong when in front of an audience, but this unaided trip was just to prove himself to us, his coworkers and friends of almost two decades.

"My goodness, Frenkie, you look excellent," Maygent commented. Janita gave Maygent one last kiss then disappeared into the ballroom with the other guests. The door shut behind her, and the concert was scheduled to begin. Jim attempted to get nearer to Frenkie, but it was as if the dark-haired man was avoiding him completely. Sighing loudly, Jim entered the ballroom, noticing Frenkie slipping the ring onto his right ring finger. There was hope.

Frenkie leaned against the door, listening to the excited whisperings and chatter of the audience, his devoted fans. Upon his entrance, he was planning on announcing what had happened to him, then the songs would commence.

Maria was the last of the household to appear. At the sight of her, Frenkie turned to greet her, taking a few steps toward her as she embraced him and kissed his cheek.

"Go out there and sing your heart out, Frenkie. You'll give the performance of a lifetime, I'm sure."

"Oh, I will be sure to do that, although I'm not sure how much of my heart is left—"

Maria gave him a little tap on the arm, as well as a friendly sneer. "I'm glad to see you still have your humour, Frenkie." She motioned to the ballroom door. "I'm going to head in, then. Good luck, Frenkie." One last kiss on the cheek, and she disappeared into the ballroom as well.

The chatter that could be heard from our vantage point outside the ballroom suddenly dimmed to nothing, and we knew that the show would be starting. We all touched each other's hands for mutual support in this, all making sure to hold onto Frenkie's a little longer, then the doors opened.

All of a sudden, the frail weak Frenkie became the performer he had always been. He trotted out in front of Jiff Daff, Maygent, and me with mike and partial stand in hand, as we actually had to struggle to keep up with him. The audience roared at the sight of their godsend, the most excellent Frenk M. Curry. I could hear Janita and Maria screaming shrilly for us, as the spotlight turned on, the remainder of the lights dimmed, and the Britons all about us became a blur of sound and movement.

Frenkie made his way to the front of the room, standing in front of the throne as Jiff Daff, Maygent, and I took our places in the three seats in the very front of the room. We knew his announcement was coming, and sat ready to hear the song that he had written for the occasion.

"Hello, dear friends, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you." Frenkie smiled broadly, although I noticed the slightest quivering of his legs, a sign of intense nervousness. I've never seen his legs shake in even in the slightest amount. God, this must have been so hard for him to do.

"Thank you, everyone," he said once more, as the cheering audience quieted.

"Now, I have some news that may shock you, everyone." I hoped he'd say his bit soon, for he was beginning to stutter. "I have the BAND virus," he said, and the audience hushed until a pin drop could be heard. It was a death sentence, and they all knew it.

"We must all fight to conquer this horrible disease. Please pray for me, everyone, but don't fret. This is, however, my farewell concert, so please don't allow yourselves to grieve until _after_ the proceedings." A smirk came across his face at the comment, another sign of his intact sense of humour remaining intact in the direst of circumstances.

He had written a song especially for this occasion warning others of the danger of the disease that was threatening to seal his fate. After coughing with mouth covered, he sat in the padded throne, holding the microphone and part of its stand as he had always done, but the tone of the night was somber and all audience sound muted.

He began to sing his song, glancing about the audience to reach into their depths with his statement of warning disguised in song form.

"I'm just a shadow of the man I'd always been

Oh, I've been up against a force that's gonna win

I've been suffering at home

But I have never been alone, I've got my friends

---

I wish the doctor hadn't told the truth to me

But, oh, then again, it isn't really hard to see

In my wretched state of mind

I have searched myself to find

Where I went wrong

---

My lifestyle choices doomed me, I

Never could make up my mind

Torn between my lovers

And the love I left behind

I'm headed for disaster

Cause I didn't read the signs

Ignorance will kill you every time

---

I'm only pieces of the man I used to be

There will not be a wayout of this for me

I used to be so carefree

Now all I do is fear what is to come

---

What could you do if you could stand here in my shoes?

Even so, there'd be no path that you could choose.

It is now too late for me

Anything I try, I'm bound to lose

---

I hope you've learned a lesson

From my story full of gloom

A fast lifestyle will kill you

Your decisions, they will loom

And consequence will strike you

At an unsuspecting hour

So please control your life, you have the power."

The audience was shocked silent, and then the whimpers and sobs began. Before it could become full-fledged bawling, Frenkie called the other members of his group, including myself, to the stage, where we took the stage at our respective instruments for the final song.

Still possessing the magic he had in every motion, every vocalization, Frenkie proceeded to count off the third and fourth beats of the song, and soon we all were harmonizing. Even so, we could hear sniffling and sobbing in the audience as the realization of the song came to be. We had made a surprise for Frenkie that he hopefully would enjoy, later on.

Maygent began with the verses, beginning in his soft yet deep voice.

"Why can't you spare Frenk M Curry his life

He don't deserve this, he's been nervous

And it cuts him like a knife

He's done nothing wrong

I sing you this song

Oh please, can you just give him

A brand new start

So let him live

He'd make a brand new start."

I then sang a verse for Frenk -

"I know that Frenk would gladly give up his wealth

To just return to and stay at his previous good health

Make a miracle

For our Frenk, the jewel

He's just desiring

A second chance to live."

It was then that Frenkie began to sing, earnest and pleading. "Let me live; I'd make a brand new start."

As he finished up the chorus, Maria stood up from the front of the audience with a microphone in hand and sang him her own verse, our surprise from the true love of Frenk's life.

"It's been a difficult time for you

But I'll be right by your side

I've always loved you, Frenkie

And that love for you abides."

Frenkie's tear-stained cheeks glistened in the spotlight as he began his verse. His former girlfriend's verse had truly touched him, bringing tears to his eyes to the point of no return. He was now crying silently as he held a hand to his earnest face, knowing this was the last time he'd be performing for his devoted fans. He knew this was the last verse he'd be singing in the song, and I can't honestly imagine how he could have been feeling to perform this final time, uttering the last sung words to his fans, perhaps for forever.

"Oh, can't you spare me this horrible fate

My body's aching, and breaking

And death's a mere short wait

Shivers down my spine

Always feel like cryin'

Just help me one last time

Please spare my life"

His lyrics were racked with his own sobs, and the strains of his beautiful voice were wrought heavily with the rumbles of the pneumonia that had set in during the previous week. It seemed as if the whole audience was crying, by the din of their resounding sobs, and I glanced briefly at the snare to see that I too, had been crying, for the teardrops bounced atop the head like falling rain. The song was soon to be finished, for Frenkie began walking down the aisle to exit the room in his energetic way. The old Frenkie had returned to us, if only briefly, but it amazed and astounded me to watch this man, in his last throes of life, performing as only he could do with his amazing strength. A hasty exit at the end of the song would ensure that a complete emotional breakdown of the audience members would not happen in Frenkie's presence, and thankfully, that he would not see my impending emotional breakdown.

He finished the last two bars, sobbing yet retaining his broad and satisfied smile as he gently reached out to touch a young fan's hand—

"Let me live

I'll make a brand new start"

—And just after he turned to face the audience one final time as the song ended before reaching the curtained door, he collapsed.

Maria was the first to stand up and rush over to him, with Jim close behind. We all threw down our instruments and ran over to him from the front of the ballroom after a brief stage of initial disbelief over what had just happened. The audience members stood up in their seats, mumbling and murmuring amidst themselves, as members of Frenkie's hired stage helpers instructed them to remain seated. Soon, however, when the situation became direr and direr, the stagehands hustled the audience out of the ballroom away from the sight of the motionless Frenkie upon the floor, for there was nothing that anyone could have done for him and a panic was beginning to arise amidst the audience members. In the confusion, the mayhem of it all, I was helpless to watch Frenkie's closest companions, Maria and Jim, stroke and fondle his face as they felt desperately for a pulse.

Frenkie was dead. I stood above his lifeless body with Maygent and Jiff Daff as Maria and Jim cried their hearts out on the floor, squeezing his lifeless hands in their own, saying his name over and over as the audience was herded out of the ballroom. Frenkie had made it through his final song, and had successfully given his fans a proper goodbye.

The story of Frenkie closes, and new memories are made in his absence. I sing my final song to you, dear reader, and hope that you retain peaceful and happy memories of Frenk's existence.

So, dear friends, Jim's love is gone

Nevermore we'll hear Frenk's song

I dare not say Maria still lives there

Frenkie had left her most of his share

Jim can't sleep, but stays in bed

Janita and Maygent have since wed

From all the gloom, a new love has bloomed

And the crying will cease soon….


End file.
